


Hole

by rabidchild67



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Humiliation, M/M, Objectification, Oral Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:10:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you?” </p><p>“Your hole.”</p><p>“And how does that make you feel?”</p><p>“A hole has no feelings.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hole

**Author's Note:**

> This is my belated entry for sub!Zach Day!

“What are you?”

“Your hole.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

Zach lies prone on the bed, ankles cuffed to a spreader bar, eyes wary. A short dog leash binds his collar to the center of the spreader. His back is arched, head held high, hands bound. The leash is perhaps a hair too short. A note for next time, Chris thinks. 

“A hole has no feelings.”

“That's right,” Chris says, petting Zach's hair with a light hand. Zach is sweating; his shoulders and arms tremble with strain. 

“What am I going to do with you now?”

“I'm a hole.” 

“That's right. A hole is meant to be filled. Isn't it?” Chris muses. 

Zach knows better than to answer. Chris knows that's what he wants, and since he's been playing with him for a while now, doing the things he himself likes, he decides he’s feeling indulgent. He glances at the leather belt that dangles from his right hand. Zach's ass and thighs already bear evidence of its kiss. Welts rise and swell in places. He bets if he laid a hand just above he could feel the heat coming off the reddened skin. 

“ _What_ am I going to do?” Chris asks, his tone speculative, as if he doesn't actually know. He looks at Zach's hole, glistening with lube, primed, and cocks his head. He drops the belt and crosses the room to his “toolbox,” an old leather suitcase he picked up somewhere, lined with red silk, its edges beginning to show wear. It lies open on the chair, out of Zach's line of sight. He roots around, pushing restraints and cock rings aside until his fingers close on the thing he’s looking for.

It's a butt plug. His favorite. It's solid glass, hefty, with three graduated bumps. He picks it up and returns to the bed, dribbles a generous amount of lube on the head of the thing 

“Look at that. I think that'll fill my hole nicely,” he says as the lube oozes down. He sits on the bed, on Zach's left side, and caresses his ass cheek for a moment, then presses the head of the plug against Zach's hole. It's cold—as is the bedroom—and Zach flinches. Chris lets that go uncommented on. He's got other things taking his attention. 

He presses the tip of the plug forward slowly, watches as it breaches, fascinated. The thing is transparent of course, but not perfectly. Images are distorted. He can see the shade of Zach's flesh through it, and shadows. Zach's hole stretches around it, chasing traces of the lube back along the toy. Chris pauses as Zach stretches to accommodate the first bump at its widest point. This is his favorite part: the muscle stretched wide, that fleeting moment of resistance, a light push forward and it's in, the sphincter closing around the smaller space between, puckered again, like a mouth blowing out birthday candles.

Chris's dick throbs in his pants, and he has to pause to breathe. Zach grunts as his body adjusts to the first bulb of the plug that's inside him, shifts a little, and settles. 

“So pretty. You think it can take more?” He doesn’t wait to receive an answer; a hole has no thoughts on its capabilities, after all. “It can take more.”

He applies more lube, generously, and presses the toy forward. The resistance is a bit greater so he eases off, allows a bit more time. When he tries again, there is less, and he pushes slowly, as gently as he can. When the second bulb has been fully inserted, he imagines what it might feel like, and finds he cannot. He’d never be able to accommodate something like that, never in a million years. That Zach can is a thing he never ceases to be amazed by. Chris’s dick throbs again; he’s fully hard now, and straining against the fine wool gabardine of his trousers. 

He rises, walks around to the foot of the bed to look down on Zach. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and he’s panting a little. Chris traces the line of his jaw with his fingertips, down to his chin. His thumb strokes the bottom lip and Zach takes it in, sucking. “Such a good hole,” Chris says approvingly. “You think you can take more?”

Chris raises his eyebrows, removes his hand and thumbs at his zipper. “Yeah?”

He sees the moment the question registers, because Zach’s pupils go impossibly wider. 

“All right then.” Chris unzips and pulls his dick and balls out. Grasping his dick at the root, he slaps Zach in the face with it. “You’re sure?”

Zach’s answer is to open his mouth and say nothing. 

“That’s my good, good hole,” Chris says before shoving his dick in, pressing his hips forward. Zach backs off as much as the position he is in allows, taken aback by Chris’s sudden onslaught. But a hole is uncomplaining, and he forces himself to relax. Chris pauses when the tip of his dick hits the back of Zach's throat. Tears form as Zach fights not to gag, his mouth stretched around Chris’s girth. Chris smiles for a moment, proud. Zach moans around him, a long, low sound. It feels glorious, forcing an answering moan from Chris.

Chris reaches down, gently cups the back of Zach’s head, a feeling of tenderness washing over him. He smiles, pulls his hips back, and snaps them forward again. 

Zach gags, splutters. Chris pulls out again, leans back to peer down at him. Zach blinks. There is spit running down his chin, oozing down his throat. Chris fucks into that wet warmth again and again.  
Zach closes his eyes to concentrate, his throat muscles relaxing.

“Look how I filled my pretty hole,” Chris continues. He bends over and grasps the base of the butt plug. He pulls at it, feels the resistance to its removal, eases up, tries again. Zach groans, twitches. The hardware on the short leash jangles. Chris works the plug until it is sliding in and out, a fraction of an inch each time. From this angle he unfortunately cannot see the way Zach’s hole stretches around it, but he can imagine it. The thought makes him fuck Zach’s mouth harder. Zach chokes. Chris straightens and pulls out, but keeps working Zach with the plug. Zach’s head rests against Chris’s hipbone. Chris can feel Zach’s breath on his balls. 

“You like that?” Chris asks. Zach’s answer is another moan. Chris unfastens the leash and Zach’s body relaxes. His feet fall to the bed, ankles weighted down by the spreader bar. A moment later, he begins to weakly hump the bedspread. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” Chris says and works the plug in and out. 

Zach comes hard, his screams muffled against Chris’s body. Chris steps back, to watch him. He’s a mess, sweat matting his hair to his head, spit and tears wetting his face, mouth gaping. It’s gorgeous. Chris takes his own dick in hand and, with a few short, rough jerks, he completes the picture, coming all over Zach’s reddened face. 

Chris falls to his knees, panting. Zach lies on his belly like a landed fish, hands still bound behind him. He too is panting. Chris takes his face—his wrecked face—between his hands, and kisses him, gently. 

“Oh my God, baby, you were beautiful.”

“Yeah?” Zach says, voice harsh and scratchy from the deep dicking.

“Yeah,” Chris says, and kisses him again.

Zach smiles, his face beatific. Chris busies himself with freeing his lover from his restraints, moving his limbs carefully, easing the plug out as gently as he can, removing the collar. He goes to the bathroom to run a bath and helps Zach into it. He’s limp and docile after a scene, he always is, and he readily complies with Chris’s orders to move this way or that. 

Afterwards, when he’s sitting on the closed toilet and Chris is drying him, he laughs softly. 

“What’s so funny?” Chris asks, grabbing for a comb from the edge of the sink; if he lets Zach’s hair dry as it is there will be hell to pay in the morning.

“You fill me up.”

“Yeah, I did.” 

“No, I mean you fill me up.” He lays a hand on his chest. “Here.”

Chris sits back on his heels, gazing into Zach’s face. He looks at Chris with a slightly loopy grin.

“I love you too,” Chris says, and smiles back.

\----

Thank you for your time.


End file.
